Shaping a weapon
by ladybeckythevampiress
Summary: Set at the end of the GOF. After the grave yard does not go as planned, Voldemort caputres Harry with the intent of creating the perfect weapon. Warning- this fic will be dark. Contains slavery, violence and possible slash later on


This will be a Dark fit. It will contain violence, death of a main characters and possibly slash later on. I will put a warning on each chapter about violence etc.

I suffer from dyslexia. I had tried to reomve all spelling and grammar mistake but there could be a few that remain. please be understanding aboput this. Thanks

I do not Harry Potter. No mtter how much i want to.

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Chapter One 

It was the coldness of the floor, the chill of the tiny cell that dragged Harry back to reality. The foul stench of stale body sweat and the sharp repulsive smell of urine hung in air causing Harry to fight the urge to vomit .A small window, which was no bigger than a shoe box, allow a small amount of light to tickle its way into the cell. With a whimper of pain Harry lifted his heavy shackled arm to block the irritating light from his eyes. How long had he been in this cell? How long since Cedric had died? It cannot be longer than a day or two at the most since he was thrown in here.

Growling and groaning in protest his stomach demanded food, this throat was dry and ached from the screaming and his body was exhausted. It desire rest and food. Scowling as his stomach groaned even louder he rolled over trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his stomach. After living at the Durlsey Harry thought he could handle a few days without food but no, after not eating anything from nerves the morning of the final task and then becoming the newest plaything for Deatheaters he had not had any real food for a long time.

Uncomfortably aware of the pain that flooded his body whenever he move, Harry dragged his heavily chained legs towards him so he could curl up to try and get some warmth. Biting his cracked lips he willed himself not to cry, not to beg or draw any more attention to himself. The last thing he wanted or needed at this moment was his guards to return. It only brought pain. None of this made sense to Harry; his tired mind struggled to put all the pieces together that led him here. How can someone go from winning the Tri-wizard Tournament with Cedric to being tortured and being the prisoner of Voldemort? Why was the prisoner of Voldemort? Why is he not dead? Was does Voldemort want?

Voldemort was going to kill him that Harry was sure of. After all the trouble that Harry had caused since he was baby there was no way that Voldemort would spare his life now. No there was too much bad blood between them, even if it was all Voldemort's fault. It was Voldemort that chose to attack him, chose to hunt down a baby who couldn't talk let alone hold a wand. Curling up tighter as a wave of desperation hit him, which caused Harry to wince as he aggravated his open wounds, as it struck him that he was going to die shackled and chain in a small cold cell alone and in a lot of pain. Harry would give anything to see friends again, to fly one last time or just have one more day as a normal boy. Closing his eyes as soft sob escape his lips he could not stop the memory of what happen that night come flooding back.

_Harry crouched behind the headstone, and he knew the end had come. Urging the last of his strength Harry stood up, gripping his wand tightly in his trembling hand. Time seemed to grow still as they watched each other, raising their wands. It was over in two movements, before Harry could even think to use any sort of spell Voldemort send him crashing back, cracking his head hard against the broken headstone. Black spots formed behind his eyes, as he fought to stay conscious. The cruel and mocking laughter of the Deatheaters filled the air as Harry stumbled to his feet. _

_Gasping Harry faced Voldermeot without fear, without trembling. This was it. _

"_Avada Kedavra."_

_Closing his eyes Harry preyed that the end would come swift and that at least voldemort would leave his body where his friends could find it…. Nothing, moments passed and nothing happen. The startled cry from the Deatheaters and the hiss of anger that escape Voldemort force Harry to open his eyes. Gasping at a shield that had wrapped itself around him, a deep green that was pulsing in a strange energy had blocked the spell. _

"_Avada Kedavra" _

_This time Harry watched as the spell hit the shield. It seemed to disappear, shatter into a thousand pieces against the shield. It did not last, almost like someone pressing the switch the shield flickered and disappeared. _

_That is when it all went to hell. _

Bang

Snapping back to reality the cell door swung open, banging against the wall with such brutal strength that Harry had to fight with himself not to flinch. In the doorway was a unknown Deatheater. Harry swallowed down a whimper and stop his trembling as they approached. At the graveyard Harry had scoff at the appearance of the Deatheaters. The long robes, the golden mask looked over the top, almost childish. Grown men and women wearing an expensive Halloween mask at a cheap and weak attempt of causing intimidation and fear. Now was a different story. Cold, beaten and alone the Deatheaters gave off a more menacing atmosphere more. It was almost suffocating. Against the darkness of the room they seemed overpowering, almost towering over him in an endless dark present. It was the mask however that caused shivers down his spine. An emotionless mask that offers no sympathy, no mercy and no expression at all; it is just an overwhelming presence of death and pain. Inhuman.

The Deatheater slowly and carefully drew out his wand as if he was purposely delaying the movement, relishing that Harry was fighting the urge to flinch or curl up even tighter. Harry braced himself as the Death flicked his wand but nothing happened. Confused Harry glanced around and nearly cried out in shock as his chains started moving. Slithering around and on him like snakes. Blinding him tightly, almost cutting into him. The chains brutally force Harry's head back, slipping into his mouth forming gag. In a moment of panic Harry thrashed and lashed out, squirming against the tightening chains. A deep laugh erupted from the Deatheater, savouring Harry's fear and panic. After the chains had finally still, leaving Harry completely vulnerable and defenceless, the Deatheater finally spoke. It was flat, cruel and filled with malicious.

"The Dark Lord is waiting for you."


End file.
